


Late Night HBO

by leifmotifff



Category: South Park
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Sorry?, i wrote this when i was in high school, so you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7664575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leifmotifff/pseuds/leifmotifff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s pretty late that night, maybe even the next morning—not that it matters, since they’re on summer break, and Kenny once again finds himself walking home alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night HBO

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008 for Foodstamp's SP Fanfiction Contest, the theme of which was _"the boys i mean are not refined"_ (courtesy of ee cummings).

It’s pretty late that night, maybe even the next morning—not that it matters, since they’re on summer break, and Kenny once again finds himself walking home alone.

He and the gang had been out being belligerent teenagers, pushing each other around in empty shopping carts in the parking lot of some gas station/food-mart complex. They had been having a great time, wheeling around at freight train speed, until Cartman and Kyle decided to race and Kyle got pissy because Cartman kept winning. The extra weight was actually an advantage on wheels, it built up the velocity, Kyle explained, and that’s why it wasn’t fair. Cartman told Kyle to suck his balls.

Once the two started trying to ram their carts into each other in an attempt to knock the other over, the man working at the gas station came out yelling and threatened to call the cops on them for noise pollution. So Stan, ever reasonable, called it a night, and they proceeded to trudge back to their respected homes.

It’s pretty dark without the bright white lights of the parking lot, the only lighting coming from the tiny sliver of a moon glowing in the midnight blue sky, and Kenny steps cautiously over the train tracks that serve as the unofficial boundary separating his friends’ neighborhood from his side of town; the respectable members of their redneck society from the degraded white trash, whose misfortunes are politely ignored by the rest of the community.

He finally reaches his house, fumbling with his keys—well, he only has one key, his house key, but it’s attached to a key ring lined with little metal and plastic key chains he has found over the years, all clanking against each other and making faint jingling noises. After a few seconds he locates it out of the bunch, unlocks the door and creeps inside the old house, closing it quickly so the hinges on the door won’t squeak and wake up his parents.

Suddenly he hears something and he freezes, hand still on the doorknob, dead silent, before exhaling quietly in relief. It’s nothing, just the strange static sound coming from their janky old TV. But living on the rough edges of town will teach you to be vigilant, if not paranoid, especially for someone like Kenny. He turns and indeed, the door to the living room is cracked open a bit, a faint flickering light falling in a long thin strip on the wooden floor panels.

Kenny pads over and pushes the door open slightly to peer in. Kevin is lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the table, the eerie blue glow from the television screen lighting up his relaxed features. He’s still in his day clothes, a worn pair of jeans, stained and dirty from the auto repair shop where he works, and a purplish-blue flannel shirt, messily untucked. The top few buttons are missing, exposing the bare, tan skin underneath.

Kevin makes no indication of having seen Kenny enter, but the blond joins him on the couch anyway, plopping down tiredly. His brother appears to be watching nothing on TV, where only static and garbled grey and black lines are moving systematically down the screen.

Kenny looks back to Kevin, who’s cocking his head to the side and scratching his jaw, where dark stubble is growing in. Kenny watches his fingers trail just next to a faint smudge of grease running down his cheek, and thinks of his brother in the hot garage, working inside all day with nothing but an old fan to make the summer heat more bearable.

Say what you want about Kevin, Kenny thinks, but for a white-trash high school drop out who often gets into more than a little trouble, he sure takes on a lot of responsibility. Kevin is the reason they now have bacon and eggs to go with the usual frozen waffles, but Kenny still has to suppress a snort when he thinks about his rowdy, uncouth older brother, contributing to society as a productive member of the working class.

In fact, now that Kevin has something to do during the hours he isn’t out with his equally raffish friends, smoking or drinking or trying to slip his hands up naïve and unsuspecting country girls’ skirts, Kenny barely ever sees him anymore. Except for times like this, late at night when the action is at a standstill, and they are either too tired or too wasted to have any real sort of conversation.

Kenny’s eyes sweep up the defined, mature jaw-line, and stop on the dark, dry streak marring his brother’s even complexion. He pictures Kevin, sliding out from beneath a beaten-up vehicle, unconsciously wiping his face with a dirty hand before grabbing the hem of his wife-beater to dab at his perspiring forehead, inadvertently displaying the taut muscles of his stomach.

Kevin finally speaks, acknowledging the younger boy’s presence and shaking Kenny from his inner thoughts.

“We don’t get them nasty channels late at night, huh?”

His speech is lilted by their mother’s scratchy, not-quite-southern accent, which is always more pronounced when Kevin’s had a bit to drink. Kenny frowns before he realizes what his brother is talking about, then shakes his head and mumbles something like, “Yeah right, I wish,” through his parka, but Kevin has never had any problem understanding him.

The older boy chuckles softly, then yawns and stretches, strong arms spreading on either side of him to rest on top of the back of the couch. He plucks the orange hood cleanly off of Kenny’s head, then presses his hand inconspicuously against the back of it, his fingers playing with the fine blond hair.

Kenny is about to protest when Kevin leans a little closer, his eyes never leaving the screen, and whispers, “But look, if you stare long enough, I swear, you can see a pair of tits.”

Kenny can smell the faint traces of alcohol on Kevin’s breath, but he turns his eyes to the screen anyway, focusing on the scrambled picture. He squints a little, trying to see, and his jaw almost drops in amazement when he realizes his brother is right. Behind the erratically moving lines, he can make out the very fuzzy outline of a naked woman’s body—no, two women, voluptuous enough that they look more like strange bubbly shapes than people, considering the distorted, two-dimensional black and white picture.

“No way,” Kenny replies quietly. Then he laughs and claps Kevin on the knee. The wonky antenna they found on the highway years ago must have been picking up someone else’s premium late-night HBO. “Well, I’ll take what I can get,” he says, grinning at the older boy.

Kevin turns to look at him for the first time that night. “Yeah?” He says, voice low and gravelly.

Kenny blinks, noticing their proximity. Kevin’s eyes are glazed and shiny, partially hidden by light brown bangs falling askew against his cheekbones, giving him a becomingly disheveled look, a familiar crooked grin plastered on his face.

“Huh?” Kenny utters stupidly, before he feels the fingers in his hair slowly begin to rub his neck, tracing playful little circles against his skin as Kevin smirks at him, dark blue eyes boring into him. Kenny suddenly wishes he was wearing his hood again. He feels his face heat, and he swallows hard.

Kevin must have noticed this, because he quirks an eyebrow and grins wider. It’s almost mocking—Kenny is _sure_ it is when he feels his brother’s other hand touch his knee. The fingers are hot, even through his jeans, and as they start to inch slowly up his thigh, making his breath hitch quietly, Kenny feels the tingle of panic race up his neck and face, a thin sheen of cold sweat breaking out on his body.

Kevin removes his hand from Kenny’s hair and pushes the younger boy smoothly down on the couch with one hand, shifting to straddle him, and leans down close enough that Kenny can smell the saline scent of sweat, the remaining musk from the day’s hard work mingling on his skin.

Unthinking, Kenny’s eyes slide closed and he breathes in the scent, so much older, coarse, experienced. The last thought gives him a slight tremor, and Kenny internally shakes himself and tries to compose himself before speaking.

“K-Kev, what...” he starts, opening his eyes, but Kevin just smiles at him lazily, bringing a hand up to Kenny’s face to drag his fingers lightly down his cheek. The fleeting but electric touch makes him shiver, and Kevin, seeing this, flashes him an inarguably predatory grin, canines glinting briefly in the blue light of the television. Warning bells go off in Kenny’s head and he inhales deeply, breath shuddering in his throat when the grazing touch moves to his lips.

He swallows again. He and Kevin used to horse around, wrestling on the floor, pinning each other affectionately and laughing, but it was nothing like this. Kenny had always brushed off the jolts he felt when Kevin touched him as a product of overly eager hormones combined with his messed up, especially perverted mind.

Now this here, Kenny’s body trapped between the worn, frayed cushions of the couch and the weight of the older boy’s lean body, Kevin’s hands stroking his face, the air hot in between them, _this_ , is something entirely different.

It’s less rough, each feather light stroke sending tiny sparks of sensation across his skin, clouding his thoughts… more intimate, which makes it all seem more underhanded and dangerous. Kevin may have had a few drinks, but the older boy could hold his liquor. No, Kevin definitely knows what he’s doing, and that thought alone both thrills and scandalizes Kenny. He knows what’s going on here, but for the first time, he doesn’t really— _get_ it.

At fourteen, Kenny McCormick was up for anything. He was always considered the most experienced in his small group of friends, certainly the most knowledgeable on all things inappropriate; sex, in particular. He considered himself an expert on the subject. Not a lot could fluster this boy, even in a crazy town like South Park.

But, as he feels his brother’s hot breath ghost his ear, nose nuzzling his dirty blond hair, Kenny rationalizes, this is something _way_ out of his league. What eighteen-year-old Kevin McCormick is doing to him now is not only inappropriate, but bordering on the indecent—the taboo.

Of course, nothing has even really happened yet, but Kevin’s hands on his thigh, in his hair, the moist lips parted against his cheek—more importantly, his own physical reaction, his eyes fluttering, his heart racing, causes adrenaline to rush through his veins, a secret thrill at skirting on the cusp of the forbidden.

He’s a little scared, but Kevin’s experienced fingers moving down his neck and chest only increase his excitement. Kenny hesitantly and shakily turns his head towards Kevin, stopping when he feels the other’s breath hit his lips.

“Kevin,” Kenny speaks his brother’s name breathlessly. “I…”

The older boy quiets him by sliding a warm hand between the open flaps of his jacket and up his torso, sending an electric shock through his nerve paths and to his spine, before joining the other at the top of Kenny’s neck, holding his face gently. Kevin looks down at him through half-lidded blue eyes, which for some reason seem to imply much more than he could ever possibly articulate, but somehow, it’s comforting.

Kenny brings a trembling hand up to touch Kevin’s cheek, and Kevin’s gaze moves down to linger on his lips, and Kenny feels a weird squirming in his gut, because despite his boldness, this, well, he doesn’t know…if…

When he feels moist, firm but chaste lips against his, any weak protests he might have had disintegrate, vanishing into corners of his mind he just doesn’t have the will to pay attention to at the moment.

Yeah, it’s weird, feeling his brother’s mouth on his own, and as Kevin licks gently into his mouth, tasting faintly like beer and something distinctly unrefined and very masculine, Kenny has to admit it isn’t repulsive in the least.

No, it tastes deliciously illicit, and as Kevin’s hands slide down to grip his hips, expert tongue flicking against his, Kenny thinks, strangely lucidly, that if that makes him sick, well, there’s no curing it at this point. After all, it’s nothing he hasn’t been called before.

Kenny wraps his arms around Kevin’s waist, pulling the other’s body flush against his before breaking the kiss and flipping both of them over, so that he’s sitting on Kevin. He pushes Kevin’s shoulders down against the cushions and leans down again to brush his brother’s lips with his own.

Nervous, but ever daring, Kenny places a hand on Kevin’s hard stomach, sliding his fingers down to play with the slightly frayed waistband of his jeans, ghosting his hand just above his brother’s crotch. Kevin groans in response, and grabs the back of Kenny’s head, threading his fingers through his hair and crushing their lips together.

Kenny can’t help but smile through the kiss.

Hey, he’ll take what he can get.

_~_

_-fin-_


End file.
